


Pardonne Mes Lèvres

by SorrowsFlower



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, No Strings Attached, i don't know how to tag clearly, just a little, may get a little weird later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 09:41:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17978963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SorrowsFlower/pseuds/SorrowsFlower
Summary: The first time Clarke lays eyes on her, there is no heat in her gaze.The throbbing need, the delicious current of craving for HER that lives just underneath Clarke’s skin – those will come later.





	Pardonne Mes Lèvres

**Author's Note:**

> Title and the pool scene are from the film, A Good Year. I don’t speak French, so please feel free to correct me.

The first time Clarke lays eyes on her, there is no heat in her gaze.

Lust and desire are absent from the curious blue eyes hidden behind pink heart-shaped sunglasses as they take in the other little girl across the pool.

The throbbing need, the delicious current of craving for  _her_  that lives just underneath Clarke’s skin – those will come later. For now, hers is a clear gaze – devoid of perverseness or impropriety – as she pretends she’s not studying the young brunette girl as avidly as she’s studying Clarke.

Luminous eyes squint at her in the afternoon sun, and this is how Clarke first meets her – perched on the edge of a swimming pool at Woods Manor, skinny awkward legs kicking up little splashes of water, her wild, curly hair shining bronze in the sunlight, her mouth set, and her eyes wide in their scrutiny.

Lexa Woods

Clarke doesn’t know her, but it was really only a matter of time before they met.

Her mother is Chief of Surgery at one of the hospitals her family owns, and Clarke had been invited – forced – to attend the 12th birthday party of billionaire tycoon Philip Woods’ recently-acknowledged illegitimate daughter.

It wouldn’t hurt to make friends with the girl, her mother says. But Clarke has enough friends and she is wary of this strange, silent creature with piercing eyes.

Clarke sees the other girl – Lexa – rise from the edge of the pool where she had been sitting alone, and instantly, she turns away, busying herself by applying sunscreen on her arms, even though they already have a healthy layer of lotion slathered on them.

She doesn’t see, but Clarke hears the splash on the other end of the pool that tells her that Lexa dove in. A discreet glance confirms this. Lexa is in the water, her gangly arms and legs now coordinating with each other in broad strokes to propel the girl towards Clarke’s side of the pool.

Lexa emerges a few feet away from the deck chair where Clarke is sitting, and without a word, she beckons her forward with the curl of a finger. When Clarke doesn’t respond, Lexa only arches an eyebrow and beckons again.

There’s no escaping it. Surprised, and more than a little hesitant, Clarke unfolds her legs from the deck chair to crouch at the edge of the pool.

As she bends closer, Lexa rises from the water slightly, one hand gripping the lip of the pool, the other reaching out to remove the sunglasses from Clarke’s face – and before she can register her shock or annoyance at the girl’s actions, the polarized filter of lenses is removed, and Clarke is treated to the most vivid pair green eyes she has ever seen in her young life.

Verdite with threads of gold stare back at Clarke, equally mesmerized, and Lexa surprises her yet again.

The other young girl pushes up with both hands now, neck arching slightly, and Clarke finds herself breathless and wide-eyed as Lexa presses a kiss to her lips.

Her first kiss doesn’t last long, and tastes of cherry lip balm, Lexa’s favorite caramel ice cream and chlorine.

Lexa pulls away, but not before she whispers in Clarke’s ear words that she doesn’t understand. “ _Pardonne mes lèvres. Elles trouvent du joie dans les endroits les plus inattendus.”_

And then she’s gone. Splashing once more into the water, leaving Clarke with a single inane thought in her head.

Dammit, why didn’t she take French in school?

....

....

....

....

They don’t meet again for years after that.

School is a busy time for Clarke, and she has had many kisses since the first one stolen from her at a pool party. The taste of illicit alcohol snuck into school dances where tongues met, hands wandered and skirts were hurriedly bunched at the waist, and the tang of forbidden cigarettes smoked under bleachers and passed from mouth to mouth have long overtaken the sweetness of cherry lip balm and party ice cream on her mouth.

It takes a summer in the country to remind her.

It’s at the beginning of this one that she sees Lexa again. At the cusp of seventeen, and, like Clarke, growing into her body and self, the promise of beauty surpassing that which she now possesses shimmering like a heat haze around her youthful figure.

She’s astride a bicycle, weaving aimlessly up and down the lane when Clarke spots her. Earbuds in, Lexa doesn’t hear her approach at first, her plump roseate lips – lips made to be kissed – mouthing words to a song only she can hear.  

It’s hot, she’s wearing cut-off shorts that lure Clarke’s gaze to the seemingly endless length of her legs. She rises up for a moment to gain momentum, supple thighs squeezing together just so, legs pumping, and Clarke blinks slowly, mouth going dry.

She knows she’s staring.

“Clarke.”

Somehow, she thinks Lexa doesn’t mind.

....

....

They talk. About everything.

About Clarke’s dream of med school. About her love of painting and art. About how she never managed to find a happy medium between the two. About the new friends she’s made in school – the impertinent but surprisingly kind Raven, the endearingly annoying and reckless Octavia, and her brother Bellamy, whom she’d thought was a bit of an ass, but actually turned out to be a good guy. About the boys Clarke has kissed. And the girls.

About Lexa’s father and his harsh but firm lessons. About the people she’s met who work for her father – his gruff yet stalwart head of security Gustus Paunovic, his indomitable senior VP of Operations Indra Porter, even her brash yet doggedly loyal cousin Anya Lachman who’s being groomed to become VP of Special Projects, and all the various people under her father’s employ and protection. There’s fondness in Lexa’s voice and fervor in her eyes as she talks about people Clarke doesn’t know, but the way she talks about them, Clarke thinks she might want to.

They talk about Lexa’s stepmother, Nia Quinn, and her son Roan whom she’d been grooming to be the successor to the company. Until Lexa’s father learned of Lexa's existence and brought her into the fold. About Lexa’s half-sister, Ontari, who resents Lexa for taking her place as Philip Woods’ favored daughter.

They talk about Clarke’s mother and the enormous shadow she and her achievements and expectations cast on Clarke. About her father, her favorite person in the world, who holds their family together.

They talk for days.

And one night, Clarke manages to convince Lexa to sneak out of the house and meet her at the lake.

She hides her nervousness behind an brazen smirk and peels off her shirt and shorts. To her right, Clarke hears Lexa gasp when her panties – damp since they’d last seen each other, and soaked now that she’s in Lexa’s presence again – drop casually to the wood of the pier. Her bra is the last to go, and she can see that Lexa’s eyes are practically black in the paleness of her face as Clarke disrobes in front of her completely.

There’s total silence aside from the ambient sounds of nature and the lapping water of the lake. She thinks Lexa may have stopped breathing entirely.

Before she can lose her nerve, Clarke turns and launches herself into the lake, arms and legs unfettered by clothes flailing in abandon as she flies through the air and lands with a splash that finally breaks the silence.

She emerges from the water, slicking her hair back. Lexa is standing at the pier, gaping at her. Clarke grins, arms and legs moving to keep herself afloat. She can almost hear Lexa’s swallow and she knows where the other girl’s gaze is drawn to. After all, Clarke’s been told her tits are perfect more than once.

“What are you afraid of, Lexa?”

Deep verdite green, almost obscured by black, snaps to her face, and Lexa’s eyes narrow.

“I’m not afraid.”

As if to prove this, the other girl starts slipping out of her clothes, careful to hold Clarke’s gaze. She loses it for a moment when Lexa pulls her shirt over her head, but Clarke thinks it’s worth it when skin is revealed in the moonlight and she’s treated to the sight of a toned stomach and small, high breasts that she knows, without even touching them yet, would fit perfectly in the cups of her hands.

This is simultaneously the best and the worst idea she’s ever had.

Lexa’s eyes meet hers again, and Clarke, despite being submerged in water – with some parts of her decidedly more  _wet_  than others – suddenly feels parched.

Steady hands slide the cutoff shorts down those long, long legs until they pool at her feet. Slowly, they move to the waistband of her panties – maddeningly slow – and Clarke feels like yelling at her, but that feels too impatient, too much like begging.

When the offending piece of cloth drops and moonlight reflects on the moist, glistening skin between Lexa’s thighs, Clarke’s breath cuts off.

She’s so  _wet_.

Clarke shivers.

_Fuck._

For the second time since they met, Lexa dives into the water, swimming toward Clarke. She’s much smoother now, movements having acquired an assured grace that does nothing to return oxygen to Clarke’s brain.

Clarke’s not sure who initiated the kiss this time. Only that she’s so fucking glad they did.

This kiss doesn’t taste of childhood’s flavors and chlorine. This kiss tastes like moonlight on Lexa’s lips, and recklessness on her tongue. It tastes like youthful possibilities on palms that seek, and hunger heedless of consequences on naked skin.

There’s something both earnest and hesitant in the way Lexa kisses her that makes Clarke’s heart hurt and her cunt ache pleasantly, clenching on nothing, overheated even in the water.

”You make me crazy.” she pants wetly into Lexa’s trembling mouth, and she’s rewarded with a shaky laugh bursting from moist lips. 

For a moment, it seems like Lexa will say something back, but she shakes her head and instead surges forward, displacing water around them, to press her lips back to Clarke’s, who returns the kiss just as hungrily.

But there’s no traction to be had in the middle of a lake, even for eager young bodies, and after a while the kiss slows, calms, and Lexa pulls away. ‘

At first Clarke thinks she’s heading back to the pier, but she surprises Clarke again by gently twisting her body away so she can float on her back.

The position reveals the full length of Lexa’s body for Clarke to see, and she wets her lips, but manages to find enough restraint when she sees the serenity in Lexa’s face as she gazes up at the starry sky.

God, she’s so beautiful.

Clarke copies her, laying on her back on the lake’s surface. Her hand finds Lexa’s somewhere in the water, and their fingers tangle together.

The stars are bright above them, and around them, the rest of the world is dark. The water partially covers Clarke’s ears, creating a calm, muted rushing near her eardrums, and if she pretends well enough, it’s as if she and Lexa are in a vacuum, a soundless, weightless bubble where nothing else exists but Clarke and Lexa and their hands clasped together.

They stay that way for the rest of the night.

....

....

The old turntable they found and stole from her father’s study is playing vintage records. Paints and brushes litter the room, and a half-finished portrait of Lexa sits abandoned on the easel.

This time, it’s Clarke who takes something from Lexa.

Something infinitely more than a kiss, she thinks even as their open mouths meet, Lexa’s desperate gasps mingling with Clarke’s own hungry breath. Their clothes are on the floor, the sheets are tangled hopelessly between Clarke’s canting hips and Lexa’s writhing legs.

She can taste Lexa’s inexperience in her lips, but it’s more than matched by her ardor. One of her hands has, after several tries, found Clarke’s clit – she thinks Lexa can be forgiven for that, not just because of her apparent inexperience, but because it feels fucking  _amazing_ , especially because Lexa is nothing if not a quick study, and she learns very rapidly how to make Clarke gasp and strain and moan. The other is tangled in her hair, pulling hard – and  _fuck_ , if Clarke doesn’t really,  _really_  like that.

Lexa’s eyes light up in satisfaction at that, even as her pupils dilate further. There’s something almost resembling a smug huff in her next exhale.

Clarke’s fingers curl inside tight, wet heat in retaliation – God,  _so_   _tight_ , clenching madly, painfully sweet around two fingers, and there’s no way anyone else has ever been where Clarke is now.

Carefully, she experiments, changing the angle of her thrusts, varying her speed to gauge Lexa’s reaction with each change – each shattered moan, each sharp intake of breath, each arch of that elegant spine. She’s not loud, not like Clarke knows herself to be – but God, the way her voice breaks over Clarke’s name…

Everything feels like a discovery. Like something new and overwhelming.

Clarke curls her fingers inside, pressing down with her thumb at the same time, and Lexa comes sharply, crying out her orgasm into Clarke’s shoulder, in startled gasping moans.

Clarke’s name is buried somewhere there, in all that incoherence, and they cling to each other to anchor themselves amidst the trembling, violently tender, undiscovered storm that Lexa becomes in her climax.

Clarke quivers in sympathy, but there is no satisfaction, because it’s not an orgasm that makes her feel this way. It’s…. something else. Something she doesn’t know or understand.

Cautiously, she moves Lexa’s hand from her sex, ignoring the clamor of her needy clit and her empty cunt. Lexa, spent from her orgasm, protests weakly but eventually acquiesces when Clarke turns them both to their side and presses close, her fingers drifting over Lexa’s right arm.

This is new.

It feels big. Terrifying.

Intense.

Like Lexa.

For the first time, it feels dangerous. Like it could rip her apart. Like it could ruin her.

It’s too much, too soon. They’re both too young. There’s too much out there to enjoy, too much out there for them to ruin before they ruin themselves.

....

....

Eventually, summer ends, and so do they.

There was never any other outcome to be expected anyway. They had lived most of their lives apart before all this, and that was the way it would always continue. Like tangent lines barely touching the curve of each other’s lives before continuing their own separate paths beyond each other.

But the ache of guilt in Clarke’s gut refuses to quell, even as she leaves Lexa’s bed for the last time.

She gathers her clothes and the portrait of Lexa that she’d almost finished today before the very subject of that painting came in to distract her. It’s good, she knows it.

Clarke also knows it’ll never be finished.

She takes one last look at Lexa lying on the bed – dark curls spread wild over the pillow, blankets tangled around supple limbs, soft, pretty lips parted slightly in sleep…

Something in Clarke is itching to go back to her. To wake her with a kiss – a proper kiss goodbye that would hurt more than it helped.

The door closes almost soundlessly behind her.

....

....

....

....

Two months later, she sees Lexa again.

This time on the front page of an entertainment tabloid, under the extremely tacky headline:  _“Lady-Wood! Woods heiress caught on cam with mysterious new lady lover!”_

Clarke’s hands are shaking as they practically tear the paper open to see the pictures, obviously taken with a telephoto lens, of Lexa kissing a beautiful young woman the rag had identified only as ‘Costia’.

Her first thought that there’s certainly nothing hesitant about the way Lexa is kissing this girl, and Clarke immediately winces at the petty bitterness she’s not supposed to be feeling.

Her second thought is that God, Lexa looks  _good_. Also another thing she should not be thinking….

Her salvation comes in the form of one Raven Reyes.

“Clarke!” A shrill wolf-whistle echoes sharply down the block, causing a multitude of pedestrians to turn and stare at the short brunette in front of the club, waving to get Clarke’s attention. “Yo, Griff! Ready to get laid tonight?”

Any other time, she would have told Raven to keep her voice down, for fuck’s sake. But tonight…. Tonight, she’s determined to forget about verdite eyes and tabloids and photographed kisses that don’t belong to her.

Clarke snaps the paper shut and reaches into her pocket for her fake ID. She gives Raven and the bouncer a wolfish grin.

“Absolutely.”

....

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....

....

A/N: Stupid Tumblr wouldn't let me show these gifs, So here they are instead

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quite unsure how this turned out (or will turn out), quality-wise, so please let me know what you think. Thanks!


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